


Outsider Perspective

by thedailygrind



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Gen, Introspection, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Rivalry, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedailygrind/pseuds/thedailygrind
Summary: Yuzu and Javi through the eyes of the world.
Relationships: Javier Fernández/Yuzuru Hanyu, Nathan Chen/Yuzuru Hanyu
Comments: 32
Kudos: 311





	1. Nathan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The media keeps making them out to be rivals. What Nathan won’t tell them is Yuzuru makes it very hard to hate him.

When the reporters ask him what he thinks of their rivalry, Nathan shrugs, flashing his Colgate-bright smile and says, “what can I say? I mean obviously everyone loves him, look at him. He’s the GOAT. He’s done all these things that have completely revolutionized men's figure skating.”

The first time Nathan sees him skate, really skate is at the 2016 Grand Prix Final. It’s Nathan's first year on the Senior Grand Prix track, and the last time they’d competed against each other had been at the NHK Trophy a couple of weeks ago, where Nathan had been so nervous he’d spent half the time in the bathroom praying he wouldn’t throw up.

Now he’s made it to the finals, the heavy weight on his chest eases and he can breathe again, can take in the cold French air and the cheering crowd at Marseilles and think about how he's finally _here._ He doesn't take any of it for granted though, sneaking into open practice early the next day, armed with a notebook and a pen, intent on studying his competition.

Even this early, the rink is packed fuller than usual, and it all makes sense when Yuzu takes to the ice, amidst the cheers and applause of the gallery, so grand it’s almost like it's already competition day.

Yuzuru begins the session stroking long elegant lines down the ice, practically flying past the other skaters.

Even in his plain black Under Armor practice clothes, he stands out above the rest, mesmerizing and otherworldly.

It makes Nathan’s stomach flop, in excitement and then dread as he starts his jump practice, easing in with doubles and working himself up to four rotations.

He lands quad after quad effortlessly; entering with an Ina Bauer and exiting with a spreadeagle, barely a whisper of sound as his blade hits the ice, arcing a smooth half circle on its glossy surface. The practice session slips by, and if there are other skaters, Nathan doesn't notice them, his eyes glued to Yuzuru's every movement.

At last, an announcement echoes in the arena, and the beginning notes of Hope and Legacy start to play. Some of the other skaters in the session slow down, hanging by the boards as Yuzu takes his opening pose and begins to skate, his movements fluid and magnetic. The arena seems to shrink, until the only thing of focus, moving, breathing, is him. 

Yuzuru runs through the program in its entirety, never faltering from start to finish. Nathan holds his breath at the step sequence, he's seen it before, but not like this, not when Yuzuru is skating like he has everything on the line and nothing to lose, emotions bleeding out of his every breath. He ends up missing a choctaw or two, but no one notices. 

The way he skates, Nathan thinks, is a thing of exquisite beauty.

By the time Yuzuru hits his fifth quad, it's pretty clear why Yuzuru Hanyu is the GOAT. This close to competition day, Nathan really, _really_ shouldn't be watching this, Raf would chew him out warning about _distractions._ But Nathan would rather take the nagging than leave. Against his better judgement, his body stays stubbornly planted in his chair, disobedient, as if hypnotized into stillness by the beauty of Yuzuru's program. Judging by the audiences’ hushed awe, he’s not the only one who feels that way.

The ending notes of Hope and Legacy fade, and as if released from its spell, the audience stands as one, their clapping and cheering echoing through the arena. 

Yuzuru accepts their cheers with a solemn bow before he serenely pulls up by the boards, his back ramrod straight.

Nathan thinks he looks terrifying like this, stone-cold and godly and so fucking untouchable.

"It’s like he belongs to another planet," someone whispers from behind him, and Nathan silently agrees.

Planet Yuzuru, population one.

The session's practice ends and Nathan is standing to leave when he sees Javier Fernandez stop by the boards, slipping between Brian and Tracy to clap them both on the back. 

He's smiling, his white teeth gleaming against his tan, sun-kissed skin, putting every ounce of that wild Spanish charm on display. 

Like April’s frost in the summer sun, the aloof expression on Yuzuru's face melts as he glides toward Javi, his lips curving to reveal a bright, child-like smile.

Javi releases Brian and Tracy, reaching across the barrier to pull Yuzu into a hug. Nathan watches as Yuzu lets him, burying his face into Javi’s shoulder, his fingers clenching in the soft fabric of Javi’s Team Spain sweater. 

Javi leans in then, so close his mouth almost brushes the shell of Yuzuru's ear, the gesture familiar and intimate all at once.

Nathan wishes he could hear the words exchanged, because they make Yuzu's dark eyes flare to life, make the grin on his face soften, until he's gazing at Javi, so vulnerable and open, that Nathan wonders why he'd thought Yuzuru was unapproachable at all.

Javi just looks right back, his gaze never wavering as he presses their foreheads together. His fingers drift to the back of Yuzuru’s neck, holding him in place as they share a long, meaningful breath, neither looking away. Nathan feels uncomfortably voyeuristic watching them, but then the moment ends, as quickly as it began, as Brian waves Yuzuru over.

Yuzuru shoots Javi a soft, secretive glance before he skates away, his fingers trailing from Javi's shoulder, to his elbow, lingering like he can't bear to let go.

On top of the podium, Yuzuru smiles and shakes Nathan's hand, gracious and kind and faultlessly polite.

But as the shutter click of the cameras quieten, Nathan sees Yuzuru’s gaze stray to Javi, just off podium, and thinks, there are things even silver medals can’t buy.

On the flight back to California, Nathan dreams about all the things he would give, to be able to make Yuzu smile like that — eyes crinkling — like he holds the world in the palm of his hand.


	2. Tracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracy Wilson worries when the Cricket Club welcomes a new skater from Japan.

Tracy Wilson has coached a lot of skaters in her time.

And if there's one thing she knows it's this. Competitive figure skating isn’t conducive to building relationships.

At the highest level, figure skating requires hard work, focus and determination. It’s about giving it your all, even when your bones are broken, and your muscles are screaming and there is nothing left to give.  It’s brutal and selfish and rarely leaves room or space for anyone else.

It’s why she worries when Brian agrees to train Yuzuru Hanyu at the Cricket Club. They’d been through the big Olympic hopeful drill before, courtesy of Yuna. But that was before — when Yuna was the sun that Brian and Tracy revolved around, when they were beholden to her every competition, her every request. It’s different now that TCC’s been built up into a big, vibrant skating community and Tracy and Brian have more than one skater they're responsible for. 

They have something good going now, with Javi and Nam, who are just beginning to find their footing with each other. The introduction of someone new, she fears, just two years short of Sochi could mess everything up.

But when Brian looks at her, the JSF contract in hand, his eyes shining with excitement, she knows he won't hear any of it. She knows how desperately he wants to coach Hanyu, and that deep down what Brian _really_ wants is to take home the Men's Olympic Gold, the one that had eluded him his entire career. Right now, they all know, that as it stands, the only realistic contender for Gold at Sochi is Hanyu. Tracy just hopes Brian doesn't get blinded by his goal of putting Hanyu at the top, at the cost of their other skaters.

“It’s going to be great,” Brian tells her, beaming, “you’ll see. They’re gonna make each other better skaters. It’s gonna be a great season.”

Tracy wishes she could share his enthusiasm.

Yuzuru takes to the ice first, strapping Pooh to the boards before he trails after Brian, carving figure eights into the clean sheet of ice. He’d been frustrated in the beginning when they’d insisted that half his ice time would be spent on honing his skating skills. Now eight months in, seeing Yuzuru voluntarily run through his compulsory figures before jump practice makes Tracy's heart swell with pride.

They have good days, and bad ones, and today is not particularly kind. 

Yuzuru quickly loses momentum through the session and doesn’t land a single quad cleanly, sometimes falling, sometimes under rotating. Even his most reliable jump, the triple axel, eludes him, sending him crashing to the floor, sliding across the ice until his back thumps violently against the barrier.

The whole rink goes quiet as he lies there, curled up on his side, panting.

Javi is the first to skate over and at first Tracy thinks he’s going to offer Yuzuru a hand, a playful word of encouragement like he always does. Instead, he skids to a stop right in front of Yuzuru, sending a spray of ice over him. When he has Yuzuru’s full attention, he picks up speed, flying into the air and pulling out a textbook quad sal-triple toe. 

He comes back round the rink to Tracy who’s shaking her head, ready to berate him.

“Javi,“ she begins, warningly. But Javi looks unfazed.

“Don’t baby him,” he says, turning over his shoulder to watch as Yuzuru slowly stands, dusting himself off, ice crystals clinging to his hair and his eyelashes. “He doesn’t need it.”

Javi's right. By the next minute, Yuzuru is speeding across the ice, pulling out a perfect quad toe, triple toe combination, the best Tracy's seen all season. Then, as if still unsatisfied, he carelessly tags a triple Axel to the end of it, almost from a standstill.

"All right, champ, let's not overdo it." Brian says, but he's finally smiling.

From where he’s leaning against the barriers, Javi applauds.  Yuzuru looks over, acknowledging him with a polite nod, but for the rest of the day, tension lingers in the air. 

Yuzuru is withdrawn, his face pinched with irritation, and he purposely avoids Javi, cutting wide arcs around him, careful to keep to his own space.

“Do you think they’re getting a little too competitive?” David asks, joining her by the boards. Even as he kisses her cheek, his eyes are trained on the rink, where Javier is running his program and Yuzuru is standing by the side, his fingers scrunched in Pooh’s ears, watching with the intensity of a hawk.

Javi runs through his short program twice, nailing every component while Brian grins, pounding the wooden barrier with a shout of glee.

As Javi takes his final bow, the doors to the changing room abruptly slam shut. Instinctively, Javi looks up to the space by the barrier where Pooh is mounted, now conspicuously alone, a frown creasing his forehead.

Tracy wants to tell him to shake it off, but before she can, Javi's already turned back to Brian. "Now we try the freeskate."

“Good job today,” Tracy smiles, patting his shoulder as Javi slips on his skate guards, his face flushed pink with exertion.

“If only everyday could be like this one, huh?” Javi says wistfully, pulling her into a hug.

Tracy is about to answer when the doors to the locker room swing open and Yuzuru emerges, his hair damp, a black roller bag trailing behind him. He catches their eye and bows slightly, making no move to come over and say goodbye before he heads for the main exit.

Tracy shoots Javi a concerned look but Javi just shrugs it off, shaking his head. “Just one of those days. He’ll get over it.”

It’s one of many reasons why Tracy likes Javi so much. He’s a great skater, and an even better human being - kind and guileless and mature. She gives him one last squeeze before she releases him. “Skating clinic at 9AM tomorrow, don’t be late.”

He waves her off with a mischievous, “you can bet I will be.”

Javi takes off, and it’s only later that she notices he has Pooh tucked securely under his arm. 

Yuzuru is superstitious to a fault. Tracy can already predict the storm brewing if he shows up at practice tomorrow and Pooh isn't where he's supposed to be.

“Hey,” Tracy calls wanting to warn him, but Javi’s already halfway out the door.

Hurriedly, Tracy tugs off her own skating boots, slipping her feet into her trainers before she rushes over, slamming the door that leads to the staff parking lot open.

“Javi!” She wants to yell, but the sight in front of her makes the words die in her throat.

Yuzuru is sitting in the passenger seat of Javi’s car, his head bowed and his arms crossed protectively around himself. As she watches, Javi carelessly drops his bag in the trunk, shutting it before he walks around to the passenger side to pull the door open, untucking Pooh from under his arm to place him reverently in Yuzuru's lap.

Yuzuru doesn’t move, doesn't react, just sits there staring blankly down at Pooh. Javi raises his hand to Yuzuru’s cheek and Tracy’s heart leaps into her throat, ready to stage an intervention, but Javi just leans closer, gently removing one of Yuzuru's earphones.

Dazed, Yuzuru looks up at him, and Javi looks back, his eyes softening as he spreads his arms.

Like a dam breaking, Yuzuru's stoic demeanor cracks. His bottom lip trembles and then he flings himself at Javi, pressing his face to the curve of Javi's shoulder, his arms moving to loop around Javi's neck.

Javi shifts, his hands coming to rest on Yuzuru's delicate waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He pulls him close as Yuzuru cries inconsolably, sobs wracking his lithe frame.

“Oh, _p_ _equeno_ ,” Javi exhales, his lips curving around the endearment like a sigh. He pulls back just enough so he can look at Yuzuru’s tear-stained face, can thumb away the tear treks running down his cheek, can breathe with him, _in_ and _out_ until he starts to calm down. It's an intimate, private moment, one Tracy doesn't think she's meant to see.

"I'm sorry Javi," Yuzuru says, sniffling wetly. He closes his eyes in frustration, struggling to find the words, "I want be happy for you. I _am_ happy for you. You're so _good._ You have beautiful sal. I don't know why I like this, why I'm crying--"

Javi hushes him, his fingers stroking the soft downy hair at the nape of Yuzuru's neck. "You're the champion In my heart _pequeno._ _A_ _lways._ Remember that."

Tracy shuts the door, feeling a hot lump rise in her throat. She thinks about her two beautiful boys who couldn't be more different if they tried. Javi, tall, tanned and muscular, a perfect foil to Yuzuru's sleek, agile frame and moonlight pale skin. There's Javi's warm, open Spanish demeanor contrasted against Yuzuru's restrained, quiet politeness. They're so different in every way, it should be the perfect recipe for a disaster, but somehow it's not. Against all odds, Brian had been right. Despite their bitter rivalry on the ice, Tracy sees with clear eyes the tender, selfless friendship that runs off of it.

Tracy Wilson has been a figure skating coach for a long time and there's not a lot of things she's wrong about.

She's seen the worst of human nature - people tearing each other apart, willing to do the illegal and unthinkable just for a shot at a cold, shiny lump of metal. 

Yet, she'd never seen this coming.

Tracy Wilson has coached a lot of skaters in her time but as it turns out, she still has a lot to learn.


	3. Nam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nam doesn’t think Yuzuru Hanyu will ever understand what it's like not being talented.

Nam Nguyen really wishes he could like the Cricket Club. He’d moved here when he was fourteen, exhilarated at being accepted into Brian Orser’s group of elite figure skaters. Back then, he’d dreamt of championships, of standing on top of the Olympic podium, his name etched onto the TCC's wall of fame. As a junior, his future had seemed immeasurably bright, and now…

Now, Nam wonders how at the ripe young age of eighteen, he already feels like a has-been.

He’s ready for change. He’s been at a standstill for a while now and if Brian couldn’t fix him in four years, Nam can’t afford to keep waiting around, hoping for things to magically fix themselves.

As a young skater, he had believed that as long as he diligently followed the training regime set by his coaches, his hard work would pay off. But after so many years in the competitive field, he's finally learnt that direction and purpose aren't things a coach can _give_. They're things he needs to discover for himself. 

Nam wonders if this realization has come to him too late in life to make a difference. 

Both Yuzuru and Javi, who frequently fight for the top spot in the men's field, are resolute in their own ways. Javi tends to be vocal and loud about his desires, Nam can remember some of the ugly shouting matches Brian and Javi used to have, back when they were both brash and impulsive. Yuzuru is just as stubborn, maybe more so than his training mate. It's just that he hides it better, shielding his disagreements with his coaches behind a facade of unerring politeness. Nam watches as Yuzuru quietly builds mazes around Brian — erecting wall after wall, until the only path left is to the thing he’d wanted to do in the first place. 

It’s why, Nam thinks with a wry chuckle, Yuzuru is on the ice all summer long throwing himself into quad axels while Brian winces disapprovingly by the boards.

Among such strong personalities, the Cricket Club has never felt like home. Nam can’t help feeling like the lone fraud, the great pretender amongst the _greats_. Once upon a time he'd dreamt of world championships and broken world records, because Yuzuru had made them look so easy. But four years later with no glories to his name, reality has set in, and all Nam wants this season, is to skate better, with his feet firmly planted in the ground.

Nam's ready to leave the TCC because maybe, just maybe when he’s not constantly comparing himself to an Olympic and multi World Champion, he’ll have a better shot of figuring out the kind of skater he’s meant to be.

On his last day at the TCC, Nam walks in to the familiar heavy scraping sounds of blades on ice. 

He looks up to see Yuzuru and Javi, early to practice and alone in the middle of the rink, warming up with their compulsory figures.  Yuzuru leads the pattern while Javi trails behind him, his hands grazing Yuzuru’s hips whenever they get too close.

“Have space for a third?” Nam calls, setting his bag down by a bench to pull on his skates.

Abruptly, Yuzuru looks up, as if he’s only just realized they have company and Javier crashes unceremoniously into him, sending them both skittering into the barriers.

“Ouch,” Yuzu complains, without heat as Javi promptly collapses on top of him, resulting in a playful tussle on the ice.

“Enough fooling around, you two,” Nam laughs as Javi skates over, Yuzu deadweight behind him. His fingers curl tightly in the fabric of Javi’s sweatpants, even after Javi’s slowed to a stop. 

Javi doesn’t seem to mind, though. He doesn't even try to dislodge Yuzu as he reaches over the barrier to pull Nam into a hug, chattering about his last escapade in Spain. 

English is still a chore for Yuzu, so he shoots Nam a sunny smile from behind Javi’s back before he zooms off toward the other end of the rink to practice his jumps.

Javi never takes his attention off of his conversation with Nam as Yuzuru leaves, all the same Nam sees the way Yuzuru and Javi's palms brush as Yuzuru skates away, a slide of skin against skin, like a long, reluctant goodbye.

Javi pulls on his skate guards and hops off the rink, joining Nam as they walk over to grab coffee from TCC’s state of the art coffeemaker, the one Javi had gleefully made Brian install after he'd won back-to-back world championships.

Javi’s head first in his morning coffee, features relaxed in pure bliss when Nam looks up and notices the pendant looped around Javi’s neck, bold and striking at the hollow of his throat.

“Hey,” Nam squints, because Javi is not one for accessories, “is that new?”

“Yeah,” Javi returns, absentmindedly. He fingers the pendant before he tucks it back under the fabric of his shirt again where it's less obvious. “It’s supposed to help me skate better. Harness my focus, circulate my _chi_ , that kind of thing.”

“If you believe it,” Nam jibes, good-naturedly.

He follows Javi’s gaze back to the rink where Yuzuru is now throwing himself into the air, calmly landing one triple Axel after the other. He manages four in a row before he teeters to a stop, collapsing onto his knees onto the ice. 

Nam sighs, envious.

“I guess with him around we’ll need all the help we can get, huh?"

Nam wants to tease him some more, but when he turns around, Javi’s smiling, soft and fond, as he pulls out his phone to snap a photo of Yuzuru now lying down on the ice, flapping his arms and pretending to make a snow angel.

Nam keeps waiting for something to happen, for his last practice at the TCC to feel different somehow, for the world to send him a sign that this chapter of his life is closed and it's time for him to start anew. Nothing happens though, and group drills with Tracy run as smoothly and uneventfully as ever. 

Sitting in the locker room all alone, the belongings he's collected over the past four years scattered haphazardly around him, Nam wonders why he still feels so unsettled.

“Are you busy?”

Yuzuru pokes his head into the locker room, interrupting Nam's train of thoughts.

“Nah,” Nam says, waving him over with a hesitant smile, “this can wait. What’s up?”

Bits of photos and memorabilia litter the room and Yuzuru, still decked in his training gear, navigates his way gingerly around them to get to Nam, careful not to step on anything important.

Outside of the casual conversations they share at skate practice and competitions, Yuzuru and Nam have never been close. On the ice, Yuzuru is hyper-focused and reserved. Nam had resented it in the past, until he'd done his first ice shows in Japan the summer prior and realized that when Yuzuru wasn’t skating, he was at school, and when he wasn’t at school, he was filming commercials and attending media days. 

The next time Nam sees Yuzuru finish up his practice session, bow and shower, before leaving the rink with nary a word, he doesn’t complain. 

Still, it doesn't change the fact that they don't have very much to say to each other, and it shows.

Yuzuru watches Nam uncertainly for a moment before he makes a decision and shifts so they're sitting side by side on the wood-stained bench.

“Brian say you leave,” he says after a long pause. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Their eyes meet and Yuzuru ducks his head shyly. It’s obvious he’s practiced saying that line a couple of times. It makes Nam feel warm inside knowing Yuzuru had thought him important enough to go through the effort of practicing a speech for him. 

“Thanks Yuzu, I’m gonna miss it here too.”

Yuzuru nods, watching Nam with dark, soulful eyes. After a long contemplative moment, he tilts his head and solemnly says, “you good skater, Nam."

The dam finally breaks and all those pent up feelings of fear and anxiety come flooding through. It’s only then that Nam realizes how desperately he'd wanted to hear those words from Yuzu's mouth, the GOAT, the Olympic champion, the one who's always felt so close yet so far away.

Yuzu's acknowledgement touches the dark, lonely place in Nam's heart that believed Yuzu or Javi couldn't possibly understand the immense pressure he faced. Not with their illustrious careers, not when a failure to Yuzu meant a silver medal, and a success to Nam meant fifth place. 

“Thanks Yuzu,” he manages to choke out amidst the tears that won't stop and instinctively Yuzuru comforts him, his embrace gentle and patient, like he sees every one of Nam's deepest fears.

“Change is good,” Yuzuru says, his breath huffing warmly against Nam’s hair, “new club good for you.”

When Nam finally pulls himself together, Yuzuru just squeezes his arm, his eyes full of things he wants to say, but that his mouth can’t translate adequately enough. 

“We make party at Javi's apartment for you. You come?”

Through wet snotty sobs, Nam agrees.

It’s a nice party. 

It’s rare that all the skaters at TCC go out together and looking at the turn out, Nam is overwhelmed with emotion that they’re all here, for _him_. Tracy’s smiling as she watches her boys chase each other around the park while Ghislain and his wife sit at the picnic table, cans of soda in hand. Some of the novice kids and parents are here too and they approach him with shy, adoring eyes, making Nam smile. It hits him then, how much he's going to miss them, how much TCC has become his family, as he has become theirs.

It’s a balmy spring afternoon in May, the sun warming their skin, the smell of cooked food filling the air. Jason, Rafi and the other senior skaters mill around, chattering and showering Nam with hugs and farewell wishes, asking after him and making promises to keep in touch. 

More than once, Nam has to make his excuses and hide behind a large tree by the barbecue pit so no one sees his tears fall. 

He’s standing there trying to compose himself _again_ when Yuzuru emerges from Javi’s apartment, holding a stack of paper plates and utensils. He looks different out of his Under Armor training uniform. In a light summer shirt, sneakers and jeans, his long hair loose in the wind, Yuzuru Hanyu could be just another ordinary teenager.

“Finally,” Javi laughs as he plucks a plate from the top of Yuzuru's stack, piling it high with slightly charred skewers. “I thought I was going to burn all the meat before you got back _.”_

_“_ Javi’s house messy,” Yuzuru chides, and Javi shakes his head, sending him off to deliver the food to the guests with a teasing swipe on his bum.

Yuzuru comes back a moment later, carrying a plate precariously stacked with onigiri and chicken wings. He holds it out to Javi imposingly, his right hand cocked on his hip. 

“ _Gracias pequeno,_ ” Javi says, fond, and under the summer sun, Yuzuru’s cheeks flush pink. "Have you eaten already?"

Yuzuru starts to shake his head and then he catches the _look_ on Javi's face and quickly nods instead.

Javi raises an eyebrow. 

“I drink soup,” Yuzu says defensively, waving to a Winnie the Pooh canteen, unmistakably his, by the picnic table. 

"That's it?" Javi frowns.

“I don’t—” Yuzuru pulls a face, looking like a petulant child and Javi tweaks his nose gently between his gloved fingers, leaving a small charcoal smudge on his skin. 

“Javi so bad.” Yuzuru complains but doesn't protest when Javi reaches to ruffle his hair in apology.

“I just wish you’d eat more," Javi says, with a sigh, "you’re all skin and bone.”

“And muscle,” Yuzuru returns, crisply. He glances down at the barbecued sausages and pulls a face, “this food make me feel heavy."

Javi wants to say something more, but he decides it's not his place, closes his mouth, and resolutely puts the thought away. “Fine. If you're not eating, you can cook."

Yuzuru perks up, looking at the grill, his interest piqued. “I can?”

Javi’s mouth crooks, teasingly, “Can you?”

Yuzuru puffs up his chest, peeling off his outer shirt and setting it down in a corner where it won’t get grease stains. He picks up the tongs, his lithe muscles flexing beneath his black wifebeater. 

“No,” Yuzuru concedes, after a moment, and the tongs _click_ in his hands as he opens and closes them repeatedly like a little jaw, “but Javi can stay here and teach.”

Nam smiles at their antics, listening as they bicker playfully over the grill and Yuzuru's dismal cooking ability. Nam is just about to head back to the picnic table, when he hears Yuzuru say, “ _ne,_ Javi. I wish Nam don’t leave.”

There's a pause, and Nam's heart flutters at the unexpected confession.

“I know,” Javi says with a soft sigh, “I'm gonna miss seeing him around. But it’s what he wants, right? We should be happy for him.”

“Yeah,” Yuzuru says after a reluctant pause, “sometimes new is good.”

An alarming thought occurs to him and Yuzuru turns away from the grill, setting the tongs down so he can curl his fingers around Javi’s wrist urgently.

“Javi,” Yuzuru’s eyes are dark and serious, “Javi won’t leave?”

“Oh _querido_ ,” Javi exhales, quiet and fond, his voice almost drowned out by the crackling of the charcoal flames.

“I can’t do it without you,” Yuzuru whispers, soft and vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

Nam leaves before he can hear Javi’s answer, but judging by the tender look in Javi's eyes, it isn't hard to guess.

When they come to the table later, burnt sausages in hand, Yuzuru’s face pink and flushed from the heat of the barbecue pit, they're both smiling.

Nam had never noticed the pendant before, among the tangle of necklaces Yuzuru always wears to practice. But under the glow of the setting sun, with his black wifebeater cut low on his chest, Nam can’t help but notice the familiar black onyx necklace, stark against Yuzuru’s pale skin, standing out among his other charms.

_“I can’t do it without you,_ ” Yuzuru had said. _"I don't want to."_

Standing here, surrounded by his TCC family, watching the way Yuzuru’s head tilts toward Javi's as they share a secretive smile, their twin necklaces gleaming under the late afternoon sunlight, Nam realizes, he’d gotten it all wrong before.

Figure skating wasn't about the record breaking skates, the Olympic championships or the world titles. It was about this -- about finding the people who believed in you, who raised you up and inspired you to become more than you ever thought you could be. 

Everything else, that was incidental.

It's a brand new start, Nam thinks as he steps into his new home rink at the SAP Center in San Jose for the first time. But this time, he knows it's going to be a _good_ season.


	4. Miki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is patient, love is kind.
> 
> When Miki Ando turns thirty six, she gets her wish, just not in the way she expects.

When Miki Ando turns ten, her world falls apart.

Her parents file for a divorce and her father moves to Kyoto, a two hour train ride away, while she and her mother remain in Nagoya so she can keep skating. 

Getting to see her father becomes a rare treat. Every time he comes to visit, he showers her with hugs and praise and affection and she misses him so much that by the time his car pulls into their driveway she's already dreading the day he's going to leave.

The next year, he gets a promotion and the dates between his visits grow longer and longer. But if there's anything Miki can count on, it's how much her parents love watching her skate. Since she began, her father has never missed the Japanese Nationals.

With this in mind, she pours her heart and soul into practicing, for the one day of the year that she can see the pride shine in her father’s eyes, the one day of the year, where her parents sit next to each other again, fingers almost brushing as they wait anxiously for her score.

When she wins Junior Nationals, her father calls in to the office, making arrangements so he can spend Christmas break in Nagoya to celebrate. Her mother graciously makes up the spare room and they exchange presents and eat her mother's homemade nabe by the fireplace. Until now it's still Miki's favorite Christmas memory. For seven entire days, her family is whole and warm and _perfect._

It ends too soon, but as she watches her father’s car disappearing into the white snow, Miki decides she’s going to become a world champion.

Miki Ando blazes through the Junior circuit, winning Grand Prix after Grand Prix and rounding off the season with the Junior World Championship medal around her neck. She qualifies for the Japanese Olympic team and her mother smiles, through happy, grateful tears as her father buys them both flights to Torino. Watching her father load her mother's luggage onto the airplane makes every bruise, every cut, every spill of blood the past sixteen years feel like it was worth it.

Until her father’s new girlfriend shows up. 

Michiko Uchiyama is a plain, homey lady. Yet, despite her dull, mousey personality, it's clear to everyone that Miki's father can't take his eyes off of her. He asks if he can bring her along to dinner, and Miki coldly tells him she won't have time to join them with her media appearances and Olympic practice. As she slams the door of her hotel room shut, she feels the faint hope of her father coming home again, her family becoming whole, crumble to dust. 

On the day of her freeskate, Miki can’t help the way her eyes drift to Michiko, her hand tucked into Miki's father's own. Beside them, Miki’s mother sits primly, her hands crossed in her lap, gazing at the rink with a small frown.

Miki falls three times in her free skate.

After that, her father stops showing up to her competitions.

Nikolai offers to coach her after her disastrous fifteenth place finish. Miki's backstage, half out of her costume, her eyes red and the world blurry when he offers her a tissue, like a gallant knight in shining armor. There’s nothing left for her in Japan anymore, so she packs up her things and moves to Russia with him.

He promises her the world, and she believes it, because he's the only man who picked her, who’s stayed. There are other women, she knows, but he just laughs and kisses her forehead and tells her she’s the only one who has his heart.

She hates it, but every time he holds her, she feels like she’s being saved all over again again, because he’s solid land, and she’s the ship out at sea, wavering and lonely.

It all changes when Javier Fernandez comes to Moscow. Nikolai hates him on sight, she can tell, because Javier is all good humor, and goodness and charm, and Miki's already lost to him, drawn in by his pure, radiant light. Out of spite, Nikolai begins to spend more time on Amoede, so Miki spends more time with Javi, who is generous to a fault and wants nothing from her.

“Javi,” she murmurs, and he looks down at her, chocolate-brown eyes shining in the dark.

“Hmm?”

“I… I think I’m going to leave Nikolai,” she says, her palms hot and sweaty, “I think you should too.”

She lunges forward and kisses him then, the first time she’s made a move on anyone. Javi just blinks at her, wide-eyed and confused, but then she parts her lips and he relaxes into her kiss, his arms wrapping instinctively around her waist. 

It’s the sweetest six months of her life, and then Javi moves to Toronto, to Brian Orser, and she goes home to Japan.

Yuzuru Hanyu moves to TCC that fall, and when Javi comes to visit over Christmas break, he can't shut up about him.

“He’s so great,” Javi says, smiling as he bounces Himawari on his lap, “very shy, very driven. But I think he’s warming up to me since I speak some Japanese.”

"I didn't invite you for Christmas so you could talk my ear off about someone else," she teases, but it's a near thing. But then they go to bed and having Javi _here_ and _real_ in her arms makes the empty feeling in her heart go away, at least for a little while.

In the summer, Javi and Yuzuru fly to Kobe for the ice shows. After a successful season, Yuzuru comes home to a hero’s welcome. Miki stands among the excitable crowd, an ex-world champion, faded into obscurity. She hates how fickle they are, how people never seem to be able to keep their promises, how they promise to love you one moment and then are distracted by the next new, shiny thing.

Javi comes out of departures and throws his arms around her, pecking her affectionately on the cheek. Yuzuru, who'd talked his ear off on the flight, hangs back to give the two of them privacy. When Miki catches his eye, he smiles, although it looks strained.

“Bye Javi,” he says, and is that affection in his eyes as Javi turns toward him and hugs him goodbye? 

To Miki, he offers a polite bow before he takes off, his mother’s arm curled protectively around his back.

Miki wraps her arms tight around Javi, tucking herself into his body, but even then, the chilling cold at the pit of her stomach, that stays.

2015 marks a big turning point for them.

In Barcelona, Yuzuru sets a world record at the Grand Prix Final. She thinks then that things will change, that Javi will start to resent him, but instead they grow closer than ever. 

After the competition concludes, Javi and Yuzuru take a short trip together. Miki quietly deletes the photos Javi sends, of himself and Yuzuru pulling silly faces all over Spain, without ever opening them. 

"Don't you think you should train separately?" She urges, trying to mask the bitterness in her voice.

“I like training with him," Javi says, as if shocked by the notion that he and Yuzuru should ever separate. "We push each other to become better. You saw it at Worlds."

"I don't trust him," she wants to say, but Javi cuts her off.

"He said he was proud of me.” Javi says, voice soft, and awed, “he said I was the only one in the world he could be happy to lose to. Can you imagine? Me.”

He starts to laugh, the sound bright and happy.

Miki closes her eyes and tries not to think about how much she _hates_ Yuzuru Hanyu.

She hates the way that his mother holds his hand, hates the way that even though his parents live miles apart, they still love each other. She hates the way they gather after the Japanese Nationals, when the media is long gone, laughing and teasing and criticizing his performance, even though he’s won.

At the ice shows, she hates how Javi's eyes drift toward him, like he can't help himself. She hates how they share a smile as they go around the rink, performing side by side quad salchows, their bodies unconsciously mirroring each other. She hates that he has it all, effortless and without trying. How they love him -- his parents, the crowd, Javi -- inexplicable and pure.

But most of all, she hates that she's on the outside, looking in.

It’s been falling apart for ages before it finally breaks.

“Miki,” Javi says, after three weeks of radio silence, three weeks where she’d convinced herself it was because their schedules were too busy. “Miki, I think we need to talk.”

She closes her eyes, presses the heel of her hand to her forehead and wonders why relationships don’t ever pan out for her the way they do in Disney movies, why goodbyes are always a matter of _when_ and not if. Why, whenever she falls in love, her heart grows cold and anxious, like she's waiting for the day where it all inevitably ends.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, coldly, and over the phone, she hears Javi sigh.

“Look, don’t be like that,” Javi says, “I’m coming to Japan for the summer shows, let’s talk then, okay? I don’t like leaving things the way they are.”

“Suit yourself,” she says and hangs up before he can. Miki knows she’s not the best judge of character, but Javi, Javi had been _good_ , and even then she couldn’t manage to keep him.

It doesn’t surprise Miki when Javi and Yuzu show up together at Fantasy on Ice. She sees them, smiling and laughing, until Yuzu catches her staring, and the mirth in his eyes fades and he shifts away, resolutely keeping his distance from Javi.

Javi notices, and shoots him hurt, confused looks whenever the director isn't looking. It's Yuzuru's undoing, because she sees him chase after Javi urgently when they're dismissed from rehearsal, catching his arm and dragging him into a quiet corner so they can talk.

"We’re going out for dinner tonight,” Javi is saying. He leans against the barriers, Yuzuru carving little patterns in the ice as he listens, his head bowed. “You should come.”

"No," Yuzuru shakes his head, “better for you talk alone.”

“Yuzu,” Javi begins, and sighs, “there’s nothing between us anymore, I want you to come.”

“Javi,” Yuzuru parrots back, patiently, “you don’t understand Japanese. Miki not like I come.”

“Does it matter?” Javi says, so matter-of-factly, it breaks Miki’s heart, “I only care about how you feel.”

Yuzuru sighs and shoots a meaningful look at Javi, which goes right over his head. Miki understands though because she's Japanese too. He means, _I don’t like it when Miki’s there either._ But it isn't the kind of thing either of them would say aloud.

“Fine,” Javi says, unable to mask his hurt when it becomes abundantly clear that Yuzu isn’t going to relent. “Go home and see your family then. They miss you."

Javi is turning to leave when Yuzuru catches Javi’s wrist and almost immediately the fight melts right out of Javi's shoulders. He sags weakly against Yuzuru's touch like his body can't help it, their bodies leaning against each other in Isilent reconciliation. Miki can't help searching her memories, wondering if Javi had been this easy for her too.

“Sorry,” Yuzuru says, allowing his fingers to curl around Javi's wrist, “we have dinner together tomorrow. Okay?”

Javi lifts a hand to ruffle Yuzuru’s hair and smiles. It's a genuine one this time. “I'll hold you to that."

It takes time, but Miki moves on. It hurts less and less every time she sees Javi during the summer ice shows. It hurts less and less that when Himawari skips up to greet him, more often than not Yuzuru is by his side, the two of them sharing a smile.

Nowadays, she and Javi only exchange polite hellos and goodbyes, but she minds less and less now that they've become strangers all over again.

After Pyeongchang, after Javi retires and goes back to Europe, she hears the whispers of gossip. About the things he and Yuzu are to each other, the promises they'd exchanged. 

They no longer live, work and compete together, but like clockwork, every summer Yuzuru and Javi come back to Japan. 

She watches them skate around the rink, familiar, but different -- Yuzuru older now and Javi, wiser.

They still find their own corner on the ice though, Miki is chagrined to find that some things never change.

In July, the ice shows wrap up with little fanfare. 

Miki is pulling on her jacket, ready to head out when she sees them, Yuzuru's arms wrapped around Javi's waist, Javi's hands cupped around the nape of Yuzuru's neck.

“I miss you so much,” Yuzuru is saying, his forehead pressed to Javi’s shoulder like he's trying to memorize the shape of him, for every moment they have to be apart.

Javi’s fingers slide into his hair, tender and familiar, like a lover. 

They look beautiful together, she thinks, and doesn’t allow herself to finish the thought.

“One day will be the right time for us, _pequeno_ ,” Javi murmurs, "not now, but one day."

He sounds so wistful, she aches with his longing. She wonders then, when this had started, or if they'd just fallen into it, slowly at first and then all at once. 

She wonders if she'd always been a placeholder for Javi, the one he was with, until he wasn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuzuru sniffles quietly, “sorry I selfish. I want you, and I want skate more. I wish I have both. I wish I don’t hurt you.”

Javi exhales quietly, and his next words leave a bitter taste in Miki’s mouth.

“Querido, some things are worth the wait."

When Miki Ando turns thirty six, she gets her wish, just not in the way she expects.

She finds out that true love does exists, the kind she'd only dreamt about -- permanent, and kind and patient.

It just doesn't happen to her.


	5. Denis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things Denis hates: losing, intense emotional connections and media bromances. In that order.

Denis Ten is the first skater from Kazakhstan to podium at the Olympics. In his career, Denis Ten comes in first for a lot of things.

When he’d started skating at four, Kazakstan barely had a working ice rink. Denis remembers spending his summer breaks at the rink in his local mall, tearing through the shitty, plastic ice on poorly fitted rental skates. It was all they had - just one overcrowded public rink. They didn't have private ice time, or coaches or even a somewhat competitive figure skating team.

Despite all of that, Denis had known then, deep in his gut, that  he would go down in history as one of the best skaters in the world.

Never mind there hadn’t been a precedent. 

He knew it would happen. 

He could _make_ it happen.

In Sochi, standing next to Yuzuru Hanyu and Patrick Chen atop the Olympic podium, he thinks, “I’ve done it. I’m here. And now, the world will know it too.”

For the World Championships in Shanghai, the ISU sets up a blue room where medal contenders can sit and watch the competition, with cameras poised in every direction to catch their reactions as they get unseated. It’s exactly the kind of vicious, dramatic thing that’s great for publicity. Unsurprisingly, the ISU adores the idea.

Denis kind of likes having cameras on him long after he’s off the ice and he goes into the long with the aim of watching the rest of the free from the blue room.

He draws #20 which puts him second in the final group of skaters. The rink in Shanghai is new and beautiful, the music echoing grandly against the tall ceilings. As he takes his final pose on the ice, his music crescendoing to a stop, Denis knows he's just skated one of the best free skates of his life.

The Kiss and Cry goes by in a blur. The only thing Denis remembers is the desperate _thudthud_ of his heartbeat racing against his chest, as the seconds crawled by like hours, while he waited for his final score. It's a seasons best, personal best, very near a world best. The only thing Denis remembers is grinning and punching the air as the numbers flash on the teleprompter and he sees a number one flash right next to his name. 

He makes it to the blue room just in time to see Yuzuru Hanyu, reigning World and Olympic champion, take to the ice.

Denis isn’t exactly worried. They’ve seen each other on and off all season, and with his current scores, Yuzuru would have to skate a totally clean program to beat him, which, he hasn’t exactly been able to pull off yet. 

As he watches, Yuzuru singles his first quad Sal attempt and then falters on his second. The cameramen immediately pan toward Denis as Yuzuru stumbles, falling onto the ice in an ungraceful heap. 

Denis keeps his eyes on the TV broadcast but schools the expression on his face so he doesn’t look as pleased as he feels. Having missed his two major jump elements, Yuzuru's TES score is dismally low. Low enough that Denis thinks he might be able to keep first place.

By the end though, Yuzuru comes out on top where it matters -- skating the second half of his program flawlessly and shifting his jump elements around to maximize the ten percent jump bonus.

Denis plasters a fake smile on his face as he applauds, the television screen splitting to show his expression juxtaposed against Yuzuru’s triumphant one as Yuzuru replaces him in first place.

After his scores are posted, Yuzuru lingers by the Kiss and Cry to watch Javier Fernandez who is going on next. Javi has been doing well all season, and Denis thinks he could be another strong contender for a medal especially with how well his short went. 

Just before Javi's music comes on, Denis sees a cameraman zooming in on Yuzuru’s hands, cupped around his mouth as he enthusiastically shouts Javi's name, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet of the arena.

“Ugh,” Denis thinks, as he flashes a wide smile at Yuzuru, “the things people will do for attention.”

The casual chatter amongst the contenders falls away once the music for Il barbiere di Siviglia comes on. Yuzuru has barely sat down before he immediately turns to face the screen, chewing his bottom lip and watching with a fierce, singleminded focus as Javi glides onto the ice in a handsome butter-yellow vest.

Javi skates beautifully, landing all his jump elements with aplomb. Midway through his program, he's already up 20 points on Yuzuru's TES score. Denis can't help watching Yuzuru out of the corner of his eye as Javi's technical scores jump, but Yuzuru looks calm and unfazed, watching Javi with a sort of determined pride.

Even when he gets pushed down to second, Yuzuru is still smiling, raising his arms to applaud brightly for the cameras as Javi moves into the first place.

The smile on his face is genuine, if a little teary and when Javi arrives, Yuzuru is the first to stand, throwing himself bodily into the other man’s arms as they hug. 

Denis has seen them interact like this tons of times before, playing up the friendship angle when the cameras are rolling.  With the way Javi and Yuzu have been chasing each other for the top spot all season, Denis would be willing to bet his Olympic medal that the whole thing's an act.

It's just that Denis isn't expecting the ‘act’ to go on long after the cameras in the blue room shut off and the large screen begins to broadcast the next skater’s program.

“You were great,” Yuzuru is mumbling into Javi’s chest, “So proud of you. You champion. You deserve.”

Javi doesn’t say anything at first, watching the crown of Yuzuru's head tucked under his neck with undisguised fondness. Yuzuru blabbers on, his tears and snot soaking the lapel of Javi's Team Spain jacket, but Javi doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against Yuzuru's hair, wrapping his arms around Yuzuru’s waist to pull him closer. The motion looks so smooth, so familiar, Denis almost wonders if they practiced it. 

They hold on to each other for far too long, and it’s only after the crowd starts to shout and holler as Patrick Chen finishes his free with a jaunty bow, that Denis realizes they’re both still there, standing in the middle of the room, unmoving and holding onto each other amidst the commotion.

“And we’re back in 3, 2—“

The cameraman in the blue room counts them down with his fingers. But by the time the green light of the camera flicks on, Yuzuru is seated alone again, on the opposite side of the couch.

Two disastrous free skates later, Denis watches the disbelief and delight spread across Javier Fernandez’s face as he’s confirmed as the 2015 World Champion, the first Spanish skater in history ever to receive the title.

Denis is a little bitter, he’s not going to lie, but it doesn’t seem that bad that Spain gets a turn at being world champion, as long as Kazakhstan is next. After all, Denis is years younger and already has an Olympic medal under his belt. He can afford to wait.

The energy of the crowd is now centered on the newly crowned World champion. With six cameras on him, Javi stands to graciously shake Denis’ hand, pulling him into a perfunctory hug. Yuzuru follows after him, thumping Denis on the back and congratulating him in concise, if broken English.

Released from their social obligations, Javi and Yuzu face each other once more. And as their eyes meet, the atmosphere in the small room changes, suddenly charged with an electric tension that makes Denis' skin crawl.

Denis watches the complicated emotions flicker in Javi’s eyes, sees the moment where Yuzuru’s bright camera-ready smile softens and they embrace each other, chest to chest and skin to skin. It’s the same congratulatory hug they'd just doled out to Denis. 

Same, but at the same time, so different.

“Okay boys," the lead producer is saying, "ten minutes and then we’ll need you rink-side for the victory ceremony.” 

Denis nods in acknowledgment as the crew begins to disassemble the filming equipment to move it rink-side. On the wall, the television broadcast goes to advertisements while the staff set up the red carpet and flowers on the ice.

Alone now, with only Denis as a witness, Javi finally deigns to release Yuzuru only for Yuzu to murmur something else that makes him pull him close again.

This close, even without meaning to, Denis picks up bits and pieces of the conversation. Yuzuru is murmuring about how proud he is of Javi, how much Javi had deserved it, how wonderful it was that he would be Spain's first world champion.

His voice starts to tremble and Denis sees Javi’s fingers tighten around Yuzu’s waist, Javi’s right hand sliding up the boy's spine to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Yuzuru shudders, hiding his face into Javi's shoulder and looping his arms around Javi's neck.

Denis wants to roll his eyes and tell them that the cameras are gone, and they can quit with their overplayed media ‘bromance’.

Except neither of them seems to notice, or care about the lack of the camera crew they’re supposed to be hamming up their bromance for. 

It’s abundantly clear that Javi only has eyes for Yuzuru who is sobbing openly now as Javi cups his cheek, his thumb gently caressing the tears way, his broad fingers curling around Yuzuru’s delicate face.

“I’m not crying,” Yuzuru insists, over and over again, like if he says it long enough, the disappointment of falling short, of losing the championship will be replaced by a sort of noble joy. “I’m not crying, I’m proud of you. You so good. I’m happy you win.”

And Javi, who has had to understand for so long what it feels like to be in the background, to be the gracious loser, watches him with tender, knowing eyes. 

"It's _your_ moment," Denis wants to say, "he'll get over it. Stop being the nice guy. _Y_ _ou're_ the champion, get out there and take it in!"

Except, Javi doesn't seem concerned about taking his victory lap. He watches Yuzuru, his eyes combing his face, like he can't get enough of looking at him, like he's the most important thing in the world, and nothing else matters.

“Sorry,” Yuzu murmurs in between choked tears, his fingers moving to clasp Javi's bicep, “this time is for you and I selfish—“

“Querido,” Javi murmurs, leaning down so their foreheads are pressed against each other, and their mouths are so close, they could almost be kissing, “I might have won today, but in my heart you’re the champion. Always.”

It's getting weird, and it's been ten minutes of this hugging and re-hugging bullshit and Denis really doesn't want to be here, but he hasn't found the right time to interrupt.

“Uhhh,” Denis says, standing as Javi leans in and presses what he's pretty sure is a _kiss_ to Yuzuru's temple, “good job guys, I'll see you later.”

He flees, but they don’t seem to notice.

At the gala, they hold hands, skating into the crowd to perform beautiful side-by-side quad Salchows. Denis remembers the way Yuzuru's eyes immediately search out Javi's as he lands, a small, private moment for the two of them, as if they'd both won something more precious than a world title.

It's a little weird, not gonna lie. But soon after, Denis is back on a plane to Moscow for more training and he doesn't think about it until the next year, when he sees them again.

The only good thing about Worlds in 2016 in Denis' opinion, is that he bombs _both_ the free and the short program so hard that he never even gets into the blue room. 

It's just as well, because, in a shocking repeat of 2015, Javi wins the championship for the second time in a row and Yuzu, ends up with a laudable, if disappointing, second.

Denis catches the full broadcast on the plane ride back and as the reaction cam pans over to Jin Boyang's slightly confused, and then terrified face, he  can only think, _thank god I didn't get stuck with those two again._


	6. Han Yan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In China, you either win or you're out. 
> 
> Han Yan is winning, that is, until a misstep by Yuzuru Hanyu in Sochi ends up ushering in the Quad era.

Han Yan knows fairytales don’t exist in real life.

But it's nice to believe they come true sometimes, he thinks, watching Yuzuru embrace Javi backstage in Pyeongchang, as Turandot soars in the background like a triumphant love song.

How wonderful it is to get your happy-ever-after.

The first time Han Yan lands a triple Axel, he's wearing a pair of old, scuffed up Riedells, a hand-me-down from one of the unlucky skaters who'd been phased out of the rink's elite skating program.

Han Yan remembers cradling the boots in his hands, watching the departing back of the boy, his shoulders slumped with sadness and disappointment.

"What are you looking at?" The head coach glares, "if you don't watch yourself you'll be next. Now put those on and get back on the ice."

Obediently, Han Yan does.

It's a dog eat dog world in Beijing, and the Chinese Skating Federation makes no secret of it.

Either you win, or you're out.

Han Yan knows which side of the equation he'd rather be on.

The Riedell blades cut butter smooth into the ice, and Han Yan's heart soars as he heads into his Axel prep, picking up effortless speed in his crossovers. He winds his body up, pulling his arms tight as he sails through the air and it's almost like the whole world slows down.

One, two, three and a half rotations, before his toepick hits the ice.

It's clean.

The rink is silent for a long moment and Han Yan glances up cautiously to where Yao Bin is standing, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You," he says, pointing to Yan Han. "You can stay."

Sochi marks the beginning.

The gleaming point in Han Yan's young life where everything feels possible.

This is long before Boyang storms onto the scene with his impossible quads, long before Han Yan grows into his persistent injuries and disappointing finishes.

At the start line, Han Yan's future feels impossibly bright. He graduates from a stunning run on the junior circuit to finish his first Olympics in a respectable seventh place.

He remembers the thrill of it all, the long, cramped plane ride, the ice-cold snow outside the venue. But that had all been worth it, for the roar of the crowd that echoed deafeningly in that large stadium.

He'd been there in the stands, waiting with bated breath as Yuzuru Hanyu took to the ice and skated what was surely a record shattering short program.

Han Yan's never had a dream before this, but when it happens -- the standing ovations, the thunderous applause, the excitement zinging like electricity through the air as the scores come up, and it's official, Yuzuru Hanyu is the first person to ever cross the 100 point mark -- Han Yan wants it so badly he aches for it.

He sneaks a look at his coach, Yao Bin who's usually stoic demeanor is brightened by a rare smile as Yuzuru leaps into Brian Orser's arms. Han Yan’s heart soars right with him, can taste the victory almost like it's his own because at that very moment, Yuzuru Hanyu paves the road to Asia's first Olympic Gold. 

His magnificent short ignites a secret thrill in them all, the potential, the possibility for Asians to take their place among the greats of figure skating.

Han Yan takes a long look at the hysterical crowd so he can commit the feeling to memory.

_That's going to be me, someday. Someday soon._

At 19, Yuzuru Hanyu wins the gold in Sochi, making him the first Asian male skater to do so.

It should be a triumphant moment but much of the pomp and grandeur is marred by Yuzuru's disappointing free skate. Yan Han knows by the grim set of his coach's jaw that Yao Bin doesn't like mistakes, the same way he doesn't like losers.

Yao Bin storms out of the stadium after Yuzuru misses his second quad, muttering under his breath about poor showings and unprepared athletes. Han Yan sits in the bleachers, his heart in his stomach as he watches the slow-mo replays on the big screen, wincing as Yuzuru falls, and falls, and falls again.

Yuzuru scrapes by with just half a point keeping him in gold medal contention. His team mate, Javier Fernandez finishes in distant fourth, just off of the podium. 

At the closing ceremony, Han Yan's surprised by the flare of disappointment he feels as Yuzuru timidly steps onto the podium, young and shy.

He'd been so convinced of Yuzuru's infallibility only to find out that behind the curtain even the great Yuzuru Hanyu was just human.

In the end though, Sochi is just a small speed bump in Yuzuru Hanyu's long, eventful skating career. At 19, he'd been a supernova burning bright, young and invincible, drunk on the taste of his own success. 

Sochi changes him, and consequentially, the rest of the sport.

The reminder of his ill gotten win lends a levity and focus to Yuzuru's training hitherto unseen.

When Yuzuru steps onto the ice the next year with Seimei, it makes the rest of the world sit up. At the end of his breathtaking free, Han Yan realizes that there are greater limits in the world worth breaking than the ones that already exist. 

As if it's not enough that Yuzuru is already Olympic champion, he spends his 2015 season creating and breaking his world records over and over again. Just to prove he can. And so, accidentally ushers in the "quad era".

"It's the jumps," Yao Bin shouts sternly at the younger skaters , "it doesn't matter if you have skating skills if you're not a jumper."

Han Yan had been trained classically, growing up in an era where Patrick Chan's flawless skating skills often made up for his flawed jumping passes. The sudden focus on quads leaves him floundering. He skates desperately, trying for an additional rotation with pure force of will alone, but his body so accustomed to landing triples, is clumsy and disobedient.

The quad era brings a rush of enthusiasm back to figure skating. There are new articles everyday about skaters testing and landing new quads. Yuzuru teases debuting a Quad Lutz at Worlds and Javi, not to be outdone, announces he will be performing three quads in his long, a fact that shocks Yao Bin into silence.

"But he's so _old_ ," Yao Bin says, doubtfully.

He's wrong though. Fourth place at Sochi, so close yet so far, is just enough to tempt Javi’s weakening resolve into another season or four.

Their twin disappointments at Sochi spur them on. A crushing disappointment exchanged for four more years of blood, sweat and tears. Four more years of training side by side, of pushing each other harder, of learning and growing up.

It’s a fair trade.

In 2015, Yuzuru sets and breaks world records more times than Han Yan can count, but it's Javi that walks away with the World Championship.

The only non-beneficiary of the new scoring system seems to be Han Yan, who falls sharply down the rankings as younger skaters emerge with harder and harder jumping passes.

It's either you win or you're out, and Han Yan thinks he's very nearly at the end of his tether.

In the blink of an eye it's 2018 and Han Yan is in Pyeongchang where everything's the same but different.

They’re older now, world weary and not necessarily any wiser for it. Instead of the fiery excitement he’d felt four years ago, Han Yan looks at the gleaming ice and is struck with a deep sense of uncertainty.

The fear of time that marches unrelentlessly forward as his body gets older. The unsettling fear of the younger men like Boyang and Shoma who are rushing forth with quads that didn't exist before they did.

He and Yuzuru enter the pit as veterans this time, each with their battle scars. 

He wonders how Yuzuru feels now — if he’s just as tired and afraid as Han Yan feels, with even more on the lineI as the reigning Olympic champion.

They have different practice slots, but Han Yan can’t help the way his eyes drift to the figure Yuzuru cuts on the ice, his face pale and grim with determination. He moves economically, lining up his jumping passes and leaving the session right after his run through, not sparing even an additional second on the ice for his disappointed fans.

The rink in Sochi had echoed with the youthful laughter of Yuzuru and Javi chasing each other in the warm up room; sitting up in the bleachers, their thighs pressed together, whispering as they watched the pairs and ladies’ events. But that’s all gone now, and outside of their own practice sessions, Yuzuru and Javi are rarely seen individually, let alone together.

Han Yan carries their same sobering mood into his own practice. When he skates his run through, his heart is ice cold with fear and he can’t remember the joy and freedom he used to feel, flying across the ice. The only thing he can think about is Boyang across the rink, soaring through the air as he lands every quad lutz pass, clean. 

Han Yan falls on every one of his jump passes, his mind a distracted, tangled mess.

Han Yan finishes his short in 19th place, a long way back from Boyang who finishes in 4th.

He sits at the Kiss and Cry his hands clenched so hard, his fingernails score ugly gashes into his palm. Yao Bin doesn't even look at him, and once the cameras flick off at the Kiss and Cry, he walks right off, his eyes trained on Boyang who is warming up at a corner of the rink.

When the president of the Chinese Figure Skating Association knocks on Han Yan's door and tells him they're retiring him from singles skating, Han Yan isn't surprised.

“You will make a good coach,” Yao Bin says, with a cold sort of finality, “there are many young skaters with good potential who could use your experience.”

Han Yan bites his lip so he doesn’t protest that he’s only twenty two with years of great skating left in him. So he doesn’t say that Javier Fernandez won his first world championship at twenty five, and his next at twenty six.

The thing is, Han Yan _loves_ skating. _Loves_ it like the next breath of air, loves it so much that even though it’s been eighteen years, he still goes to sleep dreaming about being on the ice and wakes up already desperate to get back on it.

He doesn’t have the words to describe the way the music seeps into his body and sings through his veins, the way time stops for him when he straps on his boots and gets onto the rink.

But Yao Bin doesn't care about that. From the time he had brought Boyang Jin to Beijing, Han Yan had known his days were numbered.

It’s not fair, but that's just the way things are in China. Han Yan spends the rest of the night looking at his free skate costume hung up on his wardrobe like a battered war uniform, wondering which of the twenty thousand younger skaters waiting in the wings will inherit this one.

It’s not fair, not when Han Yan's heart is still full and he has so much to prove. But not everyone gets to almost lose the Olympics only to win it again, better the second time.

Like a replay of 2014, Yuzuru Hanyu places first in the short, setting an Olympic record, losing the world record narrowly to himself.

Javier Fernandez, two time World Champion, but "too old" by Yao Bin's exacting standards is close behind in second.

They brush past Han Yan as they head toward the men’s small medals ceremony; Javi, standing tall and proud, while Yuzuru lingers by his side, his palm resting lightly on Javi's hip, looking calm and sedate.

There’s a quiet confidence in their stance that never existed before, cultivated through failure and pain and disappointment. But the darkest moments are over and they're here now, on the Olympic stage, looking very much like they belong there.

Han Yan watches them, the blades of his skates gripped firmly in his left hand, so hard, they leave a deep, lasting indent.

It may be the end of his own journey, Han Yan thinks, his heart squeezing painfully, but as he watches the afternoon sun bathe Yuzuru and Javier in a warm golden glow, their backs proud and unyielding as they head toward the winner’s circle, there’s a small part of his heart that flickers with a glimmer of hope.

Sunday marks the end of a long, fruitless road. Han Yan’s career extinguishes with a quiet whisper instead of the loud triumphant bang he’d imagined.

By the end of the free skate, Han Yan is very nearly last. Yao Bin doesn’t even bother to keep up appearances, so Han Yan sits alone in the Kiss and Cry, his heart in his stomach as he waits for them to post the damning scores.

It's just as terrible as he'd imagined.

It’s the sudden and heartbreaking prick of nostalgia for his glory days that makes Han Yan make the arduous trek through the grand stands to take a seat in the audience booth, so he can watch the competition to its finale.

Sitting there he can almost remember what it was like to be young and full of hope in Sochi. Once upon a time fate had chosen him too, and he remembers with painful clarity how beautiful the view had looked from the top of the podium, Yuzuru Hanyu flanking his side.   
  
  


Yuzuru is in the first to skate in the final group; a vision in a white shirt that glitters majestically against the ice. He looks so composed, so fearless that Han Yan forgets that he’s spent the last four months recovering from an injury, that until two weeks ago, there'd been doubts he'd even compete at all.

The haunting melody of flutes echoes through the arena and Yuzuru takes his opening pose, flowing easily through his choreography before he flings himself into the air, suspended for a stunning moment before he lands a quad sal, exiting with so much speed, he could have tacked a triple onto the end of it.

The music swells and Han Yan can’t tear his eyes away, as Yuzuru accelerates across the ice, easily landing a flawless quad toe.

The audience gasps in delight.

It’s the performance he’d missed in Sochi, paid back with interest. He pulls it off this time, on a career ending injury, on two weeks of on ice-training, and ridiculous amounts of painkillers. It should be impossible, but Yuzuru does it anyway.

Four and a half minutes later, the arena erupts into deafening applause. Han Yan stands, as one with the crowd, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, and clapping until his palms begin to sting.

Han Yan watches as Yuzuru collapses to his knees, his fingers wrapped aorund his right ankle. From the stands, he looks tiny silhouetted against the endless expanse of grey ice, but when Yuzuru looks up at the stands, his chin lifted, defiant and unyielding, Han Yan cannot help the hot tears that pour down his own cheeks.

Almost like a sign from God, they both make it to the podium this time.

Yuzuru Hanyu, Yao Bin's failed champion, and Javier Fernandez, who is now pushing twenty nine.

Han Yan’s eyes draw away from Shoma’s energetic free skate to the Kiss and Cry where Yuzuru stands and runs straight into Javi’s open arms. They hold onto each other, heedless of the crowd, and embrace over and over again, murmuring praise and words of affection and love.

Javi ends up with the bronze, but it doesn't matter. Not for the two people who got the second chance at redemption, for the two people who got to do it right, who did it better this time.

Seeing the two of them standing at the top of the podium, after years of untold struggle and failure, feels like the culmination of the end.

Yuzuru starts to cry as Javi’s name is announced, the Spanish flag flying proudly for the world to see, marking Spain’s first medal at the Winter Olympics.

They stand side by side, exchanging secret glances that mean too much, the backs of their knuckles brushing lightly.

It’s a victory meant for the two of them.

For life, which gave them a humbling loss once upon a time, so they could have the ultimate win.

Han Yan retires from competitive figure skating in 2018. He leaves a worn pair of Riedell's to a young child who watches him go, and hopes against hope that that little boy will grow up and get to keep them.

He goes back home, his luggage surprisingly light without the weight of skates and too many costumes, and tries to learn how to live all over again, away from the perpetual cold, and the bruises, and the ache in his muscles that never really goes away.

Some days are harder than others, and when those days come, he pulls out a crumpled article of the 2018 Olympics, of two men who stand atop of a podium, their arms thrown around each other as they stand at the pinnacle of their careers, living evidence of the trials and tribulations accepted and conquered.

And even though most days Han Yan wakes up with his heart aching, and his vision is blurry, he thinks maybe, just maybe this is just one small bump in the long road of toward his own ultimate win.


	7. Shun

Ice Rink Sendai holds a special place in Shun’s heart. Being there on the cool ice makes Shun feel like everything’s right in the world.He toddles along in his baby skates, the cool ice smooth beneath his feet and turns around so he can catch his parents who are watching him tenderly form the side lines, exchanging tender glances.

It's a true romance, his father says. He likes telling the story, his eyes sliding slowly over to Shun’s mother, as she ducks her head and smiles, shaking her head a little at his antics.

He'd met Shun's mother on the first day of high school and fallen in love with her at first sight.

"Not right away," she says.

"Right away," he insists, and presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

"I was trying to find out the best way I could hold her hand without being too creepy." He explains and so he’d invited her to go ice skating after school one day. It had been a new rink, built just after Shizuka Arakawa had just won Japan’s first Olympic Gold.

He’d pulled on his skates, heart in his throat as he escorted his date onto the ice, already dreaming up a hundred different scenarios where he’d sweep in and gallantly offer to guide her around the rink, how she’d look up at him with grateful starry eyes, as if he was her hero.

Then maybe he’d be able to hold her hand, just once.

Except, it turned out that Shun’s father had terrible coordination. 

His mother loves telling this part of the story and Shun’s father turns to her, laughing and shaking his head, glowing with happiness even though she’s teasing him.

“He fell into my arms, quite literally,” she concludes, and everyone laughs, including Shun who’s heard it a hundred times before, because it is a very good story and he doesn't think he'll ever tire of hearing it.

Shun's first memory of the ice is when he's five. There’s a whip of wind in his face as a shadow glides by, and Shun quickly follows his instinct to catch it, toddling forward on his little feet. Instead, he falls hard and the cold ice bleeds into his overalls, making him shiver. He sits on the ice, struggling to get up until the other boy circles back around, stopping cleanly in front of him to help him up.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He’s wearing a sleek black shirt, and his hands feel warm through the thin black gloves on his hands. He picks Shun up and dusts him off, inspecting him for any damage. Shun lets out the sob he’d held in and the other boy pats his head, murmuring, “it’s okay, it’s okay, it just ice. It won’t hurt you.”

Shun stares at the vast expanse of ice that separates him from his parents who are standing at the opposite side of the rink, looking concerned. It feels too big and too far away.

Immediately, he feels a fresh wave of tears welling up in his eyes.

“Hey, I’m Yuzu, what’s your name?”

“Shun,” Shun hiccups, “Yuzu-kun, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay,” Yuzu says, comfortingly, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. See?” 

He pats the ice with his gloved hand a couple of times, “it’s just ice, it’s fun.”

“Really?” Shun rubs his eyes, and the other boy smiles at him and nods, pulling a necklace of his neck and putting it around Shun’s. “I promise. And this necklace will protect you.” 

He picks Shun up beneath his armpits, and skates forward, picking up speed. For a moment, Shun’s world stops, and all he can feel is the exhilarating speed of the ice underfoot, and the wind whipping in his face. He turns around to giggle at Yuzuru who is smiling back at him, arms warm and secure around Shun's little body.

"It's fun right?"

"Yeah!"

Right then, Shun decides he wants to do this for the rest of his life.

His mother is waiting to pick him up by the barriers and she picks him up right out of Yuzuru’s hold and presses him to her chest, kissing his forehead. “Thank you for bringing him back,” she says bowing politely, “Oh Shun-chan, were you frightened?”

In the comfort of his mother’s arms, Shun puffs out his chest, “no. I’m not scared mama, it’s just ice.”

“See? It’s not so bad right?” Yuzuru says, smiling, as he pats Shun's head. “I hope you keep skating Shun-kun. The ice will become your very best friend.”

He zooms off, effortlessly weaving his way through the crowd and Shun watches him until he can't see him anymore. 

“Sato-kun,” his mother says that evening when they’re home and tucked in bed, “what’s this?”

She fingers the dark amulet around his neck, “it’s a special necklace,” he tells her proudly. “for skating.”

Sato Shun spends the rest of his childhood chasing Yuzuru Hanyu’s shadow.

He shows up early, so he can peek in on Yuzuru’s private training sessions, pressing his nose against the glass as Yuzuru jumps, pulling out enormous triple axels, and spins that go so quick they make Shun dizzy.

“Wow,” he murmurs, “mama I want to be just like him.”

She smiles, sitting next to the other skating mothers, “and you will be Shun-chan, you will be.”

The earthquake happens when he’s seven. He remembers because it’s the day he lands his first axel. One moment the entire rink is cheering and then the next, the lights go out. The earth shudders beneath their feet, and one moment Shun is high fiving his coaches, and the next, he's on his hands and knees, crawling into the darkness as people scream and concrete pillars topple all around him. Even months later, when they’re back at home again, the power and electricity running, he feels the stiff oppressiveness around him, so heavy he can’t breathe.

The days pass, and slowly, normalcy returns - the power comes back on, and slowly they start to rebuild their lives all over again. Still, after school, Shun walks by the remains of Ice Rink Sendai, sees the broken glass windows that haven’t been repaired, the inky darkness inside and the ugly plastic tape that reads ‘no trespassing’ and feels his heart sink.

“Yuzuru-kun,” Shun texts one morning, when he misses the ice so much he can’t keep it to himself anymore, “when will you start skating again?”

Yuzuru's reply comes an hour later.

“I don’t know, Shun-chan,” it reads, “I don’t feel like I should.”

The rebuilding of Sendai happens slowly, and painfully. It feels too selfish to ask his mother to drive him two hours to the ice rink in the next city, so Shun goes to school, and dutifully comes back home, running through his off-ice training in a park nearby. He doesn’t see Yuzuru either, and when Shun tries to ask around his mother says that Yuzuru’s taking a break to focus on school.

“He feels guilty,” Shun hears Yumi confide in his mother, one night. “I’m not sure what it’ll take for him to go back."

Shun fingers the pale necklace around his neck, the one that’s so worn from years of wear that the leather band has started to fray, and wonders if Yuzuru has a charm that will keep him safe too.

The next time Shun sees Yumi, it’s a year later. 

“Shun-kun,” she waves, “it’s been a while.”

“It’s been a while,” Shun says, politely, his heart so full he feels like he's going to burst.

"Yuzuru’s in Toronto training." Yumi explains. He’d wanted to say goodbye but everything had happened so quickly after Worlds that there hadn't been time. The Japanese Skating Federation had negotiated a contract with Brian Orser, and Yuzuru had flown directly to Canada from Nice. 

“He’s going to win the Olympics, Yumi-san,” Shun blurts out before he can stop himself. “It’s his dream.”

Yumi looks at him, with a fond smile. “He’ll be waiting to see you on the world stage too.”

The rink in Sendai stays resolutely shut for the next two years, and Shun resolutely ferries himself two hours each way to get enough ice time to train. In his free time, he keeps an eye on Yuzuru’s progress in the international circuit.

When he wins his first Grand Prix title, Yuzuru says, "I _decided to move to Canada because we don’t have enough rinks in Sendai. I hope one day we’ll be able to have a rink dedicated to skating so that the younger skaters will have better opportunities."_

Whenever training doesn’t go well, Shun thinks about the fact that Yuzuru did 61 ice shows to get enough ice time to place third at Worlds.

After that, he doesn’t have an excuse.

Yuzuru Hanyu wins the Sochi Olympics brilliantly, carrying the hope and dreams of an entire country. Shun sits in front of the television, his fingers intertwined tightly in his mother's as Yuzuru takes to the Olympic podium, looking handsome and regal in his white Team Japan uniform. 

_ "I'd like to thank everyone of you for giving me great support. Without it, I wouldn't have been able to win this gold medal. More importantly, I hope that young skaters in Sendai will be given the chance to compete and train, in their own dedicated rink." _

Yuzuru Hanyu is the headline on every Japanese newspaper for the next six months, and with his support, Ice Rink Sendai finally reopens anew.

It’s three years later that he sees Yuzuru again at the opening of the new rink in Sendai. There are a crowd of reporters and eager and excited parents that crowd around the rink. Shun sits high on the bleachers and watches the excitement.

Yuzuru’s taller now than he remembers but his smile is just as bright as it looked like on the Olympic podium, eyes curved and genuine. Shun has a million things he wants to say to him, “Congratulations, thank you for winning. Thank you for the rink. How do you jump a quad toe with that much height? What do you think about when you skate?”

But once he reaches his turn in line, the words stick in his throat and he can only managed a mumbled, “thank you, congratulations,” before he hurries away. Yuzuru pats him on the head, smiling, “Shun-kun? It’s been a long time. I watched your free skate, in Junior Nationals."

He reaches around and carefully places a necklace around Shun's neck, and in that second he feels like he’s on the podium at the Olympics too, the Gold medal hanging proudly on his chest. He grasps at the pendant, eyes going wide, all he remembers is Yuzu smiling at him on the way out.

Shun keeps skating, keeps competing, keeps growing up, chasing the shadow of Yuzuru Hanyu's back, until one day they're in Turin together, stepping onto the same ice.

It's been years since they've met, and Yuzuru has a second Olympic Gold to his name now, amongst other record breaking titles. But Yuzuru Hanyu is still the boy that held his hand at the rink, that told him, the ice is your friend, and gave him the gift of this long and rewarding career as a figure skater. 

It's a difficult battle, and Yuzuru looks exhausted and haggard by the end of it. When they stand by the barriers, waiting for the prize giving ceremony to start, Shun wants to say, “you're still the champion. You're the GOAT. He’ll never shine as brightly as you.”

But before he can even form the words, Yuzuru grabs him into a fierce hug, squeezing the breath out of his chest, murmuring abut how he’s so proud, how he’s so glad that Shun is the one wearing the gold medal and Shun's mouth goes dry with embarrassment, so much so that he says nothing until Yuzuru is called to the podium himself.

Yuzuru Hanyu stands in second place that day, but watching his skin glisten under the bright studio lights, his smile wide and humble, Shun thinks that there couldn’t ever be a truer champion.


End file.
